


Heilige Nacht

by folderol



Category: Homeland, The Decalogue (TV)
Genre: Established Quinn/Astrid relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Ignores 5.12, Ignores s5 almost completely, Mystery, Not Canon Compliant, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5622562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folderol/pseuds/folderol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Eve in Berlin.</p>
<p>Astrid goes missing.</p>
<p>After two long years, Quinn is forced to reunite with Carrie. They spend a cold winter's night together, searching for answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heilige Nacht

**Author's Note:**

> Heilige Nacht translates to "Holy Night" in German. Aka Christmas Eve.
> 
> After ten months of trying to write another story for Homeland, I wrote this story in a week. The plot was stolen (almost completely) from Krzysztof Kieślowski's _Decalogue III_. It's amazing how that story fits in so well with Carrie and Quinn's backstory.
> 
> This story ignores the events of s5. I've included some key points: Carrie regularly goes to church, works for the Düring Foundation, is in a relationship with Jonas, etc.
> 
> I don't know anything about German culture or language, nor about Christianity or Catholicism, so sorry in advance for any mistakes! Feel free to correct me if you spot anything.
> 
> Also, is it Jonas Hollander or Jonas Happich? I've seen both names for Jonas.
> 
> Anyway... enjoy!

****I. 24 December, 21:53** **

Although no one sees him, he’s there. Waiting in the shadows, he watches the passerby. People darting from a last shift at work, he guesses, and the believers milling around St. Hedwig’s Cathedral. He is a careful observer, but he doesn’t spot his target.

The most striking commotion in the last half hour has been a drunk, stumbling through a crowd of choir boys, whose parents looked on in disgust.

Quinn wishes he could drink tonight, drink himself into oblivion.

_Another night, another job_ , he reminds himself. But it’s not just any job and it’s not just any night -- it’s Christmas Eve.

Another holiday alone.

Even though it’s a chilly evening with fresh snowfall on the ground, Quinn wipes his sweaty hands on his trousers. He inhales slowly, exhales slowly. Then he takes a deep breath and holds the air for as long as possible, like an experienced diver. He thinks through his plan once more, then checks the clock.

He finally steps out of his car, walking towards the looming cathedral.

Asking for help is not one of his strengths.

 

**II. 24 December, 22:21**

The Archbishop has chosen to speak about forgiveness tonight. He has an earnest voice, as he invites the faithful to forgive those who have wronged them in the past year and to share with the less fortunate.

Carrie has to concentrate to understand -- she comprehends, perhaps, about two-thirds of what he’s saying, but she’s always enjoyed learning languages and this is a good challenge.

She unconsciously places a protective hand on Frannie’s head and runs her fingers through her hair. Frannie is on her lap; Jonas, his former girlfriend, and their two sons are all seated to her left: the perfect image of a modern family.

Mass is nearly over. The Archbishop closes his book and asks for a moment of silence. Then the choir is waved in.

A group of boys clothed in white step in, solemn and eager. Carrie smiles and turns around to watch them parade in, and notices a familiar face sitting in the back row of pews.

She stares at him.

He is blatantly staring back.

She cautiously turns her head back to face the stage, careful not to alter her expression.

Carrie knows Quinn wouldn’t appear for no reason. She’s immediately uneasy at having seen him for the first time in two and a half years.

_What does he want?_

The choir begins on a high note and Carrie is momentarily distracted by their song:

 

_Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht!_

_Alles schläft; einsam wacht_

_Nur das traute heilige Paar._

_Holder Knab im lockigten Haar,_

_Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!_

_Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!_

 

Carrie warily turns her head again.

He’s still looking in her direction -- with what, exactly? A hint of sorrow?

They share a look. Quinn’s face is as impenetrable as ever. Then he slightly shifts and her view of him is blocked by a balding parishioner’s head.

As the singers depart the stage, Carrie apologizes, she needs to use the WC, and dashes towards the back of the enormous room.

He’s not sitting where she saw him.

She runs to the front entrance, out into the frigid night, but Quinn isn’t there either.

She stand there for a moment, on the top step of the cathedral. She has a good view of the surrounding block, but the streets are dark, lit by a few lights and the occasional window candle or lamp.

She can’t search for him tonight. She has obligations, a Christmas to celebrate, a family waiting for her.

So she walks back in.

She just missed Quinn. It’s not the first time.

 

**III. 24 December, 23:40**

From a window opposite, he watches her pour mulled wine into mugs, a treat for the adults after the children have been tucked into bed. She places the drinks onto the tray and walks from the kitchen to the sitting room, where they -- Carrie, Jonas, and Jonas’ ex-girlfriend -- toast. Carrie and Jonas kiss briefly -- a peck, really, not meant to offend their guest.

It’s time, he decides. Quinn dials the number.

The phone rings in Carrie and Jonas’ apartment.

She knows immediately that it’s him. Her face -- then relaxed, now alert -- lights up. She excuses herself and walks into the darkened hallway to pick up the receiver.

“It’s me,” Quinn says, before Carrie can say anything. “Come out to the main entrance of your building.”

He promptly ends the call.

Quinn then leaves his hiding place, an apartment he broke into. Breaking into apartments is always easier during the holidays, he reflects as he quickly walks across the slushy courtyard to the building on the other side. People are always on vacation this time of year, spending time with their families.

She appears a minute later. Again, she doesn’t see him.

“Quinn?”

It’s the first time he’s heard her voice in over two years.

He steps out of the shadows. She gapes at him in wide amazement.

“Quinn.”

Her tone softens. She’s speaking in a whisper, but something inside him cracks. He hates himself when he hears the anxiety in his voice.

“I need your help, Carrie. Astrid’s missing.”

 

**IV. 24 December, 23:52**

Carrie rushes back inside, not bothering to shake the snow off her boots. She grabs her warmest coat, her keys, her phone. As she scans the hallway table for any other necessities she might need, Jonas approaches her.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, cup of wine still in hand.

She looks up from zipping up her coat. “Jonas, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to go,” she says with a hint of guilt. “A friend needs my help right now.”

He gives her a scolding look. “Carrie, it’s Christmas. You shouldn’t have to work for Otto tonight, of all nights.”

“It’s not for Otto,” she says flatly. “It’s for a friend.”

She kisses him on the cheek. He looks at her grudgingly, not completely convinced. Nonetheless, he offers her a half-hug.

“All right,” he sighs. “But be careful, okay?”

She nods, half-smiles. “I’ll be back soon.”

Jonas watches her shut the door behind her. He’s not assured, of course.

 

**V. 24 December, 23:59**

He’s in the car, waiting for her.

“So, what do you know so far?” inquires Carrie, as she slides into the passenger’s seat beside him. _So close, yet so far_ , Quinn thinks. He stares straight ahead at his windshield as he gives his answer:

“Nothing. I know nothing about her assignment.”

He exhales, his breath a visible puff. She looks at him in concern.

“Quinn, you’ve got to know something.” She places a careful hand on his shoulder. “How long has she been gone?”

He briefly glances at her hand, before finally looking at her straight in the eye. “Four days,” he says. “I haven’t seen or heard from her since Sunday. We had breakfast together and then she left for work.”

“She must have been working on a major case then,” muses Carrie. “If I know anything about Europeans, I know they sure as hell like their Sundays off, believe me.”

The most Quinn can offer towards Carrie’s attempt to lighten the mood is a mere nod. She senses his tension.

“Don’t worry. Astrid’s a professional. We’ll find her, I promise you,” she tells him.

It feels like a while before Quinn can find his voice again.

“All right. Let’s check the apartment first. I’ve been searching all over town and I haven’t been back there in 24 hours.”

Carrie agrees. Even if Astrid isn’t there, then she could be useful in looking for clues.

The clock strikes midnight as they begin their journey.

They drive in silence. The colorful lights are bright and numerous tonight; the streets are empty; the people are celebrating at home. _This is how it was_ , thinks Quinn. _Just me and Carrie, alone together._

Twenty minutes later, they park by a nondescript apartment complex somewhere in Templehof.

“I need a moment to check the apartment first,” Quinn says hesitantly. “If she’s there, I don’t want her to know I panicked and asked for your help. If she’s not, you should come up.”

Quinn points at a balcony. “Fourth floor, the two windows on the right. If she’s not there, I’ll walk out onto the balcony in ten minutes. If she is there, then you can drive yourself home and I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you.”

He hands her the keys.

He looks at her levelly, she nods.

Quinn leaves the car, travel bag in hand, and swiftly walks to the other side of the building where the main entrance is. He goes inside, runs up the stairs and towards the end of the hallway.

He unlocks the apartment door with the spare key Astrid gave him.

The apartment is dark, he quickly establishes. He walks into the bedroom: no one is asleep underneath the covers. He steps into the bathroom next door, where he unzips his travel bag and places his toothbrush onto the stand underneath the mirror, beside hers. He hangs his packed towel onto the rack.

Walking back to the apartment entrance, he hangs his extra jacket onto the coat stand by the front door. He flips on the light switch.

Astrid is not there, of course. Quinn eases the balcony door open and walks back into the cold winter night.

 

**VI. 25 December, 00:25**

Carrie’s eyes are darting as soon as she walks into Quinn and Astrid’s apartment, scanning every visible surface for clues. She approaches the kitchen counter first, figuring if Astrid was anything like her, she would leave seemingly useless but relevant signs of her priorities: receipts, perhaps, for travel-related expenses; to-do lists, maybe.

But Astrid and Quinn keep their kitchen relatively spotless, though a thin layer of dust covered part of the counter. There’s little worth inspecting, so Carrie walks back into the living room and examines the calendar. She flips the pages to check past months, but it’s clear neither Astrid nor Quinn needed written reminders.

“There’s nothing. I’ve checked.” Quinn’s voice floats behind her.

His words don’t deter Carrie, of course. Continuing to inspect the room, she realizes Quinn has left behind few signs of habitation here -- there’s a men’s coat hanging by the doorway, and a scarf that might belong to him. The other coats are too small to fit him, and one is bright red.

It doesn’t strike her as odd. Quinn was a Black Ops nomad for a long time and was always prepared to be deployed to another location at any given moment.

She doesn’t admit to herself that she’s a little bit relieved that Quinn hasn’t made himself at home in Berlin yet. If he had, she would be hurt that he hadn’t bothered to come see her until he had an emergency --

No, no, it’s not the right time to think about that. She needs to focus on the issue at hand: Astrid. She’s looking for Astrid.

Still ignoring Quinn, she walks into the bedroom. Like the other rooms in the apartment, everything is spotless and everything is in its right place.

A right place, a right time for everything.

_Actually, I can’t blame Quinn for not wanting to see me_ , thinks Carrie. _There was never a right time for that_.

Quinn’s steps are so silent, Carrie is startled when she hears his voice again. “Find anything?”

She turns around and is struck by his lined face, his bloodshot eyes. His voice sounds parched, as if he hadn’t slept for several days.

“No.” She tries to sound more confident, to reassure him. “Actually, I need to ask a few questions, to get a clearer picture of what’s going on.”

He balances a hand on the nightstand, leaning his weight against it. “Sure. Fire away.”

“So, how long have you two been together?”

“A couple years. On and off.”

“I mean… how long have you been living together?” She tries to sound professional, neutral.

He just looks at her. “Uh, four months, I think.”

“Sorry.” She raises her hands, palms facing up, a gesture of peace. “I don’t mean to pry, I just think these questions are helpful.”

He nods. They look away from each other and gravitate towards the bookcase behind them. Carrie notices Astrid (or Quinn, though she suspects he’s not the reader in this couple) has a taste for the classics: Thomas Mann, Rainer Maria Rilke, Doris Lessing, Charles Dickens…

She discerns that he has suddenly stopped. She turns to look at him.

He’s staring at a small photo in his hand, of Quinn and Astrid at what looks like an Oktoberfest celebration. Quinn is ridiculously dressed in lederhosen, his arm draped around Astrid. She’s looking at him lovingly…

“Oh, Quinn…”

She involuntarily wraps her arms around him.

Despite having stood in the warmth of the apartment for the good part of an hour, Quinn’s skin is cold to the touch as Carrie buries her face into the crook of his neck. She rubs her hands on his back, hoping to comfort him.

“We’ll find her. I swear,” she says, her voice muffled.

They stand like this, embraced, for an imperceptible amount of time.

Finally:

“It didn’t have to be like this, you know,” he mutters.

“We’re spies,” she says, sadly and pragmatically. “It’s part of the job.”

He shakes his head, ruffling Carrie’s hair. “I don’t mean Astrid. I mean _us_.”

“What?”

“The truth is I loved you and I was ready to sacrifice everything two years ago,” he says quietly.

Carrie freezes. It takes a moment for her to absorb his words, to gather her courage before letting go of him in order to examine his expression.

“I took your hand. You snatched it back. You left for fucking Syria. What was I supposed to do?” Her words come out unintentionally hard and fast. “I looked for you, but god knows where you were.”

Although his face is as placid as ever, something in his eyes has changed.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

He says nothing.

All of a sudden -- as if bursting from the confines of their shared past -- they’re _kissing_.

His hands are cupped around the nape of her neck; she’s holding him as closely as she can. She can smell the faded scent of musky deodorant on him, feel the chapped texture of his lips.

Carrie thinks nothing and allows her intuition to drive her.

Just as she’s about to push the moment to the next level, the doorbell rings.

They let go of each other.

“She’s here,” Carrie says simply.

 

**VII. 25 December, 01:29**

His heart is beating quickly. _No, it can't be_ , he thinks.

“Wait,” he says. “It might be a trap.”

He reluctantly steps away from her and treks to the front door, Carrie right behind him. He peers into the peep hole, and the tension in his shoulders eases. Before Carrie can ask who it is, Quinn opens the door.

A motley band of neighborhood carollers is standing in front of them, back from midnight mass, and they immediately launch into tune. Quinn – who has never studied German – understands a few key words in their song:

_Licht_. Light.

_Hoffnung_. Hope.

_Liebe_. Love.

She suddenly appears beside him, and without thinking about it, he slides an arm around her. They glance at each other, amused, or at least feigning amusement. One of the elderly men catches their shared look and gives Quinn a wink.

The carollers finish their song, and bow as Carrie and Quinn offer their thanks – Quinn with a few claps and Carrie with a grateful smile and a _Danke_. They move on to the next door in the hallway. He shuts the door.

“Well, that was a nice distraction,” says Carrie, releasing herself from him.

He gives her a smile, before his face darkens again.

“I don't think there's any clues here,” he says in a serious tone. “Astrid was always careful about leaving traces behind.”

It's clear she's not of the same opinion, as she raises an eyebrow. She nods, however.

“I'm sorry to ruin your Christmas,” he says. “You can go, you don't need to help me. I'm sure you want to be with your family.”

Carrie shakes her head immediately. “No, we're going to get to the bottom of this,” she replies fiercely. “We're in this together. Think, Quinn. Did she tell you anything about what she was doing?”

Quinn speaks slowly, uncertainly. “I think... she was working on something related to the train system. Some sort of terrorist threat.”

He sees her eyes widen.

She knows something.

 

**VIII. 25 December, 01:50**

“Fuck, how can I be so dense? It's all connected... ”

Carrie is pacing, piecing the strands together. Two words. U-Bahn. Terrorism.

“Someone sent Laura – my journalist co-worker – a message last week,” she tells him. “It was a tip that a metro station was going to be bombed around New Year's. Whoever it was, they demanded we publish the statement.”

She stops pacing, and looks at him directly.

“I told Astrid about it! She said she would get back to us and let us know if it's a credible threat and whether or not we should do anything about it. Shit, I've been blind, so fucking blind.”

“What did the statement say?”

“‘Frohes verdammt neues Jahr,’” she replies. “Or ' _happy fucking New Year's_.'”

“Astrid knows too much, then.”

They're on the same wavelength. Carrie nods.

“Which train station got mentioned?” he asks.

“Alexanderplatz. We should go there, fast.”

In unison, they quickly turn off the lights and leave the apartment.

They return to the car. Taciturn as ever, Quinn has no need to ask her for directions. She wonders how he knows the way to Alexanderplatz.

He easily navigates through a set of short streets onto a main road. There’s no one out tonight. A bit of ice lands on the windshield, but Quinn doesn’t acknowledge it.

The blocks seem to be shorter in this part of town, she thinks. Then she realizes Quinn is driving fast.

Too fast, actually.

He cuts across an intersection lit by a red light without stopping or bothering to check both directions.

A bright light comes into view in the far distance. It’s coming closer.

And closer.

Suddenly, their car veers sharply to the left and Carrie’s eyes are assaulted by a blast of light.

“Quinn! What the fuck are you doing?”

She leans over to grab the steering wheel, fighting his grip in order to adjust the car back to the correct side of the road.

The other car passes them by with a loud honk.

They stop abruptly on the now-empty road. She is stunned by their near-death encounter.

He is staring downwards at his lap, his face expressionless.

Carrie grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him: “What the _fuck_ , Quinn?! What the hell are you playing at? You nearly _killed_ us!”

Her efforts to snap him out of it work. He too is shocked, with tears beading at the corners of his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

She withdraws, turns over to face the window, trying to calm herself down with slower breaths. She needs to focus on her inhales and exhales, she reminds herself. _Breathe_.

It’s not the first time she nearly died, she reasons, anxiously. There was Baghdad, at least two times; there was the time she chased Abu Nazir in a mill. Also that one time in college, when she tried to overdose and got reported by her anal roommate.

She looks over at Quinn again. She doesn’t know what he’s thinking, wonders if he’s suicidal.

She doesn’t know anything about him.

She doesn’t know why she trusts him.

 

**IX. 25 December, 03:38**

He watches her walk with confidence around Alexanderplatz for over an hour, but she is avoiding him, shielding her eyes. Instead, she is intently looking all around, casting her net high for clues related to Astrid. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what he was trying to do.

He’s just tired. Discouraged. This night feels aimless to him. It’s the fatigue setting in.

No, no. He shouldn’t think like this. He’s never achieved anything by moping around.

He has a job to do.

“Carrie.”

She’s a few steps ahead of him, and she turns around, skeptical. He sees that her eyes are hazy, red-rimmed.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I lost control for a moment.”

After a long, silent minute, she says: “Is there something you need to talk about, Quinn?”

He blinks. He’s struggling whether or not to confess. He wonders how she would react and how badly.

“No,” he blurts. As soon as the word comes out of his mouth, he realizes how unconvincing he sounds. He tries again: “Maybe.”

She steps closer to him, her right arm moving tentatively, as if she is trying to decide whether or not to grasp his hand.

“I hope you’re okay,” she says. “I know… I know you’ve been through a lot lately. Syria. That must have been…”

She drifts off.

Quinn nods. She takes that as an affirmative sign; at last, she reaches out and squeezes his hand.

“Excuse me? Are you American?”

A young couple -- in their twenties, probably -- approaches them. They’re wearing heavy backpacks; the guy has a cap on.

“Sorry,” says the young woman. “We overheard you speaking English, right? We need some help figuring out where to go --”

“The train schedule is different for Christmas,” her boyfriend interrupts. “So we’re confused about which train to take now.”

“Oh,” says Carrie, a little befuddled. “Sure, we can help.”

They ask how to get to their hostel in Kreuzberg. Carrie is more familiar with the city, so she gives them directions without a hitch. Quinn stands silently behind her, watching her squint at their crumpled map and rack her mind for the fastest route.

“Thank you,” the woman finishes. “You’re a lifesaver! Merry Christmas to you and your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” says Carrie. “He’s not --”

The two women catch each other’s eye.

“Pity,” replies the other woman. “I thought you were. Thank you for your help, anyway.”

The couple walk away, while Carrie sighs and turns back to Quinn.

“This whole case feels odd to me,” she confides, her mind already darting back to the reason why they’re in Alexanderplatz in the first place. “I just don’t know. Usually I get this gut feeling about which direction to go, but this time… nothing.”

He says nothing. At last: “I think we should check the hospitals.”

 

**X. 25 December, 04:24**

Carrie’s German is better than Quinn’s, so she asks the hospital registrar if a woman matching Astrid’s description has been brought in today or earlier this week. Sometime after 19 December.

_Ja_ , the woman says. Yes, but she’s in the morgue.

_When?_

_Earlier today. 8 p.m._

Carrie nervously looks at Quinn, who is impassive as ever, but she knows him well. In the elevator, she wraps her fingers around his. He faintly squeezes her hand in response.

Now they’re in the basement morgue. The security guard reads the paperwork the receptionist printed out.

“Oh,” he sighs. “Die Beinlosen.”

_The legless one_.

He directs them to a body laid on a metal table and lifts the blanket to reveal the face. The head has been bashed with great force. The face is bloodied and completely unrecognizable to her.

But Quinn recognizes her.

He suddenly turns away, unable to face her any longer.

Carrie clutches him, hugs him.

“Quinn,” she murmurs, in sympathy.

 

**XI. 25 December, 05:01**

“It isn’t her.”

The shock on Carrie’s face is priceless as she takes a step back. She slaps him hard.

“Quinn! What the _fuck_!”

Before he can explain his tasteless joke, she runs off, out of the room, down the hallway. Soon she’s out of sight. Although Quinn is a fast runner, Carrie obviously is well-versed in evading people chasing her.

At last, he sees her sitting on the floor at the end of another hallway.

“I’m sorry,” he says. It feels like he has said that word a thousand times tonight.

She merely looks at him. He’s panting in exhaustion, his energy sapped. He’s a pathetic sight, he realizes. Why he wanted to see her, he didn’t know.

“That was a nasty joke,” she replies sullenly.

“I don’t know why I did it.”

She shrugs. “I guess… I don’t mind. You seemed more like your old self when you did that. You used to be such a pain in the ass when we met. Always annoying the hell out of me. It’s been a while… since you didn’t look so serious all the time.

Quinn blinks. He hadn’t expected such a reaction from her. Not knowing what to say -- the thousandth instance this strange night -- he bends down and places a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m an awful person… I….”

He trails off, pondering whether or not it was safe to tell her. _Fuck it_ , he thought. _This might be my last opportunity_.

She touches his hand with her own, looking directly at him. “Don’t be.”

He pauses, lets the moment pass. He decides not to tell her.

Not yet.

Then he proposes that they eat breakfast. “I’m starving and need a break. I haven’t had a square meal in two days,” he admits.

She nods. “Let’s do that. I could use a break.”

 

**XII. 25 December, 05:56**

They end up returning to Astrid and Quinn’s place, since no restaurants are open for Christmas. Quinn brews some hot coffee and displays an array of food on the kitchen table: muesli, yogurt, bananas, bread, cheese, and cold sausages.

“You never seemed like the type to eat muesli,” Carrie comments, warmed by a few sips of coffee. “I thought muesli was for old ladies with digestive problems.”

“You clearly don’t know me, Carrie.” Quinn smiles.

“Is there anything else I should know about you? You seem to be full of secrets and surprises tonight.”

“Well… I never went to the Hill School,” he told her, as he closes the refrigerator door. “Or Harvard.”

“Really?”

“Really. You don’t seem surprised. You thought I wasn’t that smart, huh?”

“No! I mean, there’s lots of Harvard grads I’ve met who aren’t smart. Lots of politicians, a couple CIA higher-ups. You definitely don’t belong in that set.”

“No,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t.”

The conversation pauses as Carrie scrapes butter onto her toast.

“Sometimes I feel I don’t belong anywhere.”

Her hand stops as she digests Quinn’s assertion.

“Sometimes I don’t either,” she replies. “My new job, at the Düring Foundation… it’s a great job, I know, and I’m glad to be away from DC and all that batshit that’s going on, but sometimes I miss my old life. I thought I really belonged in the CIA. It was the first time I felt I was making a difference. And then it all went to shit a few years ago.”

She wipes a tear threatening to spill from her eye.

“ _Fuck_. I was actually happy for a couple years. Sure, I had no life, but my job was my life. Here in Germany, I need a life outside of work and this new work is something I need to get used to.”

Over-aware of Quinn’s silence, she knows she needs to integrate him back to their conversation.

“What about you, Quinn? Why do you feel like you don’t belong?”

The serious look returns to his eyes, as he ignores her question and says: “Carrie. You’re so fucking smart. You just need time to get used to this. You got out. You’re alive.”

He pulls up the chair next to hers and sits down. “You can do it,” he says quietly. “You have Franny relying on you. You wouldn’t be able to care for her if you were still in the Agency.”

He gently wipes another tear climbing down her cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“You got out at the right time. Syria fucked me up.”

She waits for him to continue. It occurs to her that she hasn’t heard him talk at length for a long, _long_ time. Hell, she’s never heard him talk frankly about his personal life before.

Before Quinn can speak again, Carrie’s phone suddenly vibrates. _It’s probably Jonas_ , she thinks. _I’ve been out way too long._

But it’s not. She stares at the screen.

It’s a text message from Astrid.

_Just heard Berlin Police have 3 suspects in custody. No other details. A._

Carrie gasps and shares her phone with Quinn. He doesn’t say anything, simply stares at Astrid’s words.

“Quinn! This is good news! Are you okay?”

He looks up at her. He doesn’t look surprised, she notices. He doesn’t look relieved.

“I have something to confess to you, Carrie. Astrid was never missing.”

 

**XIII. 25 December, 06:37**

“Why?”

He closes his eyes.

“Why did you lie?” she asks again, more urgently.

He feels stupid, and little. After a long pause, he replies: “I needed to see you again.”

Carrie stares at him.

“If I knew you were in town, I would definitely want to see you,” she says.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t think you would, without a good reason. I thought you never wanted to see me again. You ran away without saying a word.”

“I told you why I was out of town,” she tells him softly. “I needed to find my mom.”

“That was an excuse.”

“No,” she says, firmly. “I just… wasn’t ready.”

“Neither was I. I was stupid to even suggest it.”

“No. You weren’t.”

He just stares at his near-empty cup of coffee. It’s gone cold.

“You weren’t,” she repeats. “But why did you make up this story about Astrid disappearing? What’s going on?”

“Astrid and I have an understanding. We… sleep together sometimes, but we’re not lovers. She lets me use this place when I need it. She’s out in Cologne with her family over Christmas. So… I thought…”

He drifts off, but decides to tell her truth.

“This is a hard day to get through alone,” he says simply.

She reaches across the table and grasps his hand again, tenderly.

“I know,” she says.

 

**XIV. 25 December, 07:03**

Carrie sneaks into the apartment as quietly as she could, closing the front door as softly as possible. Jonas has fallen asleep on the sofa and stirs as she watches him. He must have been waiting for her.

She sits on the arm of the couch as he sleepily sits up. They kiss.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“It’s okay. I was just worried about you. The kids are all asleep.”

As Jonas yawns and stretches, Carrie puts her coat and hat away in the hallway.

“Was that Quinn?” Jonas calls from the living room.

She stops.

“What did you say?”

She walks back into the room. Jonas is looking at her.

“You talk in your sleep. Sometimes you mutter the word ‘Quinn.’”

“Jesus, so you did some research on him? You’re such an lawyer.”

“Don’t get mad, Carrie,” he says. “It was just a guess. Next time, just tell me where you’re going.”

She nods, hesitatingly.

“I wish you trusted me more,” he says.

“I do. I _do_ trust you, Jonas. It’s just that my past is a little bit crazy. I can’t explain everything. I had leave last night and I didn’t have time.”

“I understand,” he tells her. “Let’s talk about it over breakfast, okay?”

 

**XV. 25 December, 07:25**

After dropping off Carrie, he decides to walk around the Tiergarten. It’s not too far away from her place.

The heavy morning fog obscures the outlines of the snow. There’s a few brave early morning joggers, either actively avoiding family members or unable to break their exercise routine for the holidays.

As he walks along an invisible path hidden by snow, he thinks about the night that just elapsed, his night with Carrie. It was a good night, a strange and wonderful one. He _had_ missed her.

He had spent most of the last twenty Christmases alone. There were a few spent with Julia, the girlfriend able to withstand his unusual job the longest, and there was a memorable one in Copenhagen with Astrid herself. But this one, he decides, has been the most meaningful one yet.

He had vowed to himself that if he didn’t make it to 7 a.m. with her at his side, he would kill himself today.

Carrie doesn’t know it, but she has saved him from the brink. With just her presence and her ability to make him _feel_.

He takes a breath of sharp air and releases it with relief. _Relieved_ , he thinks. He feels relieved.

He watches his warm breath dissipate and disappear into the fog.

His heart feels lighter.

He feels seen again.


End file.
